


caught between (the devil and the deep blue sea)

by HomebodyNobody, kaatiekinss



Series: ships in the night [1]
Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cunnilingus, Declarations Of Love, Domestic Bliss, Emotional Sex, F/M, Falling In Love Again, Father-Son Relationship, Future Fic, Gay Pope, Idiots in Love, JJ Has Feelings For Kiara (Outer Banks), JJ Maybank Has a Big Dick, Kiara Has Feelings For JJ (Outer Banks), Kid Fic, Longing, M/M, Making Love, Miscommunication, Missionary Position, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Slow Burn, Teen Pregnancy, The Love Is Requited They’re Just Idiots, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top, adult jiara, and his boyfriend danny, brief mentions of abuse, daddy jj, hippie himbo husband uncle john b, kid fluff, literally guys this is just angsty porn, mama kiara, pregnant jiara shipper aunt sarah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27606766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomebodyNobody/pseuds/HomebodyNobody, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaatiekinss/pseuds/kaatiekinss
Summary: The thought of his days being Kiara-less is a terrifying and looming reality he never thought he’d have to face. A life without her feels empty, directionless, like a ship lost at sea, with no compass to guide it home, and no anchor to tie it down once it’s there.
Relationships: JJ Maybank/Kiara Carrera, JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks), Pope (Outer Banks)/Original Male Character(s), Sarah Cameron/John B. Routledge
Series: ships in the night [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018384
Comments: 25
Kudos: 56
Collections: Jiara Ocean Kiss Soulmate Endgame Excellence (aka a jiara-centric fic collection)





	caught between (the devil and the deep blue sea)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.” - Kahlil Gibran_

JJ is laying in the hammock by the time everyone’s gone home. John B and Sarah have long since retired to her place, and Pope is leaving when the ancient grandfather clock in the house chimes twelve. JJ hears Kiara tell Pope goodbye, followed by a beat of silence, the sound of the truck engine turning over and pulling out of the driveway, and then it’s just the two of them.  _ Deja vu _ . She comes back around the corner slowly, bare feet silent across the creaky, buckling porch. He looks up at her as she approaches, too many things on his mind and not enough words, or time, to explain them all. He wants to hold her and tell her he’s gonna miss her like hell, that nothing will ever be the same without her here. He wants to kiss her like it’s the first and the last time, tangle his fingers in her hair and say, “Baby, please stay.” 

He dares to hope that she’s sensed it, the intense and burning want rushing through his veins, and thrumming under his skin, rumbling throughout his body; dares to imagine that she feels the same way, that she wants him just as much as he wants her. He thought the desire would cool after that first time -- two whole years ago now -- that he could move on, that having her once would be enough. But he should have known that with Kiara, the hunger only deepens. He can’t look at her without wanting to touch her, to slide his hands up her thighs and between her legs and part them, to worship at her center and make her see stars. He watches her, golden in every kind of light, burnished bronze skin and bouncing curls as she walks across the grass to him, and it’s hard not to reach for her, now that he knows the softness of her skin and the heat of her cunt, now that he knows the sounds she makes when he's inside of her, when she’s begging for him, hot and desperate and wanting. What is he supposed to do, when she smiles at him or takes his hand as she steps onto the Pogue, when her laughter echoes in his chest? How could the wanting disappear, after all of that?

He can tell she’s a little drunk, and high, too. But so is he. The five of them had shared a joint as they sat in the hammocks earlier, silently, listening to the ocean and pointedly  _ not _ talking about Kiara leaving the next day. JJ’s tried his hardest to ignore her impending departure, but now it’s the eve of her flight and he’s all out of time. He can’t pretend any longer. 

When Kiara told them that she had decided to go to Australia, JJ wasn’t shocked. She’s talked about traveling after high school since they were thirteen, and it was always at the top of the list. And while he wants her to be happy, the thought of not seeing her face every day makes his chest ache. It’s not like she’ll be a few hours away, either, like John B and Sarah at Chapel Hill, or even in the same country, like Pope at USC. Reef HQ, the aquarium where she’s applied to work, is 9,635.24 miles away from the OBX. From the Chateau. From  _ him _ .

Sure, there’ll be Christmas breaks and summer vacations, but Australia is at the other end of the world. It’s not like she can pack a bag and come visit for the weekend. The thought of his days being Kiara-less is a terrifying and looming reality he never thought he’d have to face. A life without her feels empty, directionless, like a ship lost at sea, with no compass to guide it home, and no anchor to tie it down once it’s there.

JJ sighs and runs a hand through his hair, letting his head drop back and his eyes fall closed. He’s just beginning to drift when the hammock dips and Kiara climbs in with him. He’s surprised for a split second but then he’s relaxing, sighing in contentment as he shifts to cradle her more easily. His cheek comes to rest on the top of her head. He breathes in deep, the smell of her shampoo filling up his nose. She had told him what it was, once, when she’d flipped it in his face to get him to stop pestering her as she cooked.  _ Rosemary and lemon _ . It’s one of his favorite things. 

They’re swaying slowly back and forth, like the gentle lull of the ocean tides, the momentum from Kiara joining him making the bolts creak with every swing. This isn’t the first time they’ve laid in this hammock together; they’d been sharing it earlier as they passed the joint around, Kiara’s head in one corner and JJ’s in the other, their feet touching in the middle. But this time -- this time is different. Kiara settles right in beside him, burrowing under his arm and tucking her face into his neck. 

He lays there in the darkness, chewing the inside of his lip raw, while Kiara nuzzles into his skin and the underside of his chin. He knows what she wants, what they both want, but the sooner it starts, the sooner it ends, and he wants to savor her, this,  _ them _ , for as long as he can. The tip of her nose flirts with the edge of his jawline. His fingers intertwine with hers where her hand rests on her stomach. The moment the skin of their fingertips brush against each other, tiny bolts of lightning prick beneath his skin, nerve endings firing rapidly, like a live wire. The pad of Kiara’s thumb rubs across the back of his knuckles and it makes him shiver. 

His hand slides up to caress her hip over her t-shirt, fingers toying with the hem. He can feel the goosebumps on her skin rise as he brushes the pad of his index finger over the warm expanse of her hip. He lingers there for a moment or two, drawing mindless circles and curlicues and listening to her breathing speed up. It gives him a burst of pride, that he can get her going with just his fingers and the most simple of touches. Gently, he drags his finger up her side, tracing the curves of her waist. One finger turns into his whole palm, and he keeps moving up and up until he gets to her ribs, where, instead of meeting the lace of the bralette she usually wears, he finds bare smooth skin. 

JJ smiles to himself.  _ He knew it. _ When the party died down and it was just the five of them left, Kiara’d gone into the house and came back out shortly after, hair down, makeup gone, wearing a t-shirt, and, as he correctly guessed, no bra underneath. He lingers just below the curve of her breast, Kiara’s breath catching as he inches closer, and it makes him smile, the effect he has on her thrilling him like nothing else. When he finally reaches her breast, he drags his thumb across her nipple, feels it stiffen from the touch, and then he’s running his thumb along the bottom curve of her breast, down the valley between them, across her belly button, and along the elastic waistband of her shorts. Her breathing changes when he does it, and he knows she’s aching for it, because he is, too. He teases her, teases himself, by touching her just above where she wants him. Every brush of his thumb against her skin builds the anticipation that simmers between them. Finally,  _ blessedly _ , JJ slides two fingers just under the elastic waistband of her shorts. 

He half expects her to stop him. To say his name on a barely-there breath and grab his wrist to halt this, whatever  _ this _ is, that would send them careening past that line she’d drawn after the first night. All it would take is a whisper on her part and he’d pull his hand away, and go back to holding her in more appropriate places. But JJ doesn’t want to stop, and he prays to whoever is listening that Kiara doesn't either. The picture of what he wants, what he  _ really _ wants, above anything else, has hovered in his head since the day he met her. It’s hazy and unspecific, just a life stretching out into time, entwined with hers. What it may look like, well, they can figure that out together. But she’s leaving. And he’s not going to get that, not going to get kitchen slow dances in the light of the refrigerator, or kids playing tag on the front lawn, or golden afternoons, just the two of them, out on the sound on a boat of their own. He’s not going to get what he wants because he never does, because he doesn’t deserve it, so he turns his thoughts to what he  _ can _ have, what highs they can reach together, tonight. 

He leans down, lets his lips hover above hers, lets his eyes fall closed, so he doesn’t have to look into fathomless depths of rich brown and come to terms with the fact that he won’t get to see them for God only knows how long. He can feel her impatience, crawling up her skin, her nose ticking upwards, asking. Kiara sighs against him, and he can feel it everywhere, from her breath rushing against his face to the way her chest expands against his side. He thinks that, just maybe, he can feel her heart beating, like maybe it’s trying to jump out of her chest, begging to be loved. He breathes in as she breathes out, an instance of stillness, the eye of the storm. 

JJ finally presses his lips against hers, and the feeling is euphoric, a crashing together of forces locked in an eternal, inevitable dance. She tastes like the tequila they drank earlier and if he wasn’t already drunk, the combination of her lips and Cuervo would be enough. Kissing Kiara is like surfing the surge; overwhelming and all-consuming. What seems like relentless bouts of intense energy followed by brief moments of calm. He can barely catch his breath before she’s pulling him back in again, surrounding him in waves of desire once more. Despite the hurricane of emotions tearing through his chest, JJ’s movements are slow, lazy, even, because she is intoxicating in every sense of the word and he wants,  _ needs _ , to take his time tonight. There are so many things he wants to say but can’t find the words for, so instead he’ll do what he does best and show her.

He parts her lips with his tongue and kisses her deeper, but still just as slow. She responds in kind by tangling a hand in his hair and JJ moves so that she’s less tucked into his side and more below him. The bolts creak at the sudden shift of weight but neither of them notices. He keeps going, fingers getting tangled in her long, curly hair. He thought kissing her would fix things, even just for a little bit, but he finds that it only makes the ache in his chest deepen as he thinks about never doing this again. It’s a dizzying and terrifying combination of heartbreak and relief that makes his head hurt and his hands shake and— he doesn’t want to think anymore. He just wants Kiara, in whatever way and for however long he can have her. 

JJ doesn’t know how long they lay there, tangled together like vines, lips growing pink and kiss-swollen, breath growing heavier and heavier with each passing second. When he grabs Kiara’s leg and wraps it around his waist, rolling his hips down into hers slowly, the hammock gives an awkward jerk and groans in protest. 

It’s loud enough to kill the mood, though only momentarily; JJ’s halfway thankful for that. He got so caught up in Kiara and everything she is that he forgot all the things he wants to do to her, none of which can be achieved in a hammock. She whines when he pulls away, a desperate, needy sound, and grabs for him as he sits up. Usually, he would say something snarky. Something like, “You that desperate for my cock, baby?” but tonight JJ doesn’t have the energy to pretend that everything’s okay. He doesn’t have the energy to pretend that he’s not in love with his best friend, or that her leaving tomorrow won’t crush him into a million, tiny, little pieces. 

He climbs out of the hammock, bare feet hitting soft grass and warm soil, and then turns to Kiara. He holds out his hand for her to take, the movement practiced and natural; muscle memory. She accepts it without any hesitation, just as she always has, and JJ is soothed by the knowledge that some things never change. 

The walk to the Chateau is short, in reality. But with Kiara’s hand held in his, everything bathed in moonlight, it feels like an eternity. Like time has slowed down as they walk hand in hand up the front steps. JJ closes and locks the front door behind them. When he turns back around, there’s Kiara, so stunning, and alive, so real, and fuck, everything he’s been feeling for the past three years tries to claw its way up out of his chest but he shoves it down, refuses to let it ruin tonight. He’ll deal with it tomorrow, in the bright and unforgiving light of day. 

JJ takes his hat off, runs a hand through his hair, puts it back on. He looks at Kiara, all bare feet and soft curves catching the hazy moonlight as it comes through the window. There’s no awkwardness between them, no wondering, no questions. But JJ pauses, bites his lip, gives her one last chance to change her mind, just in case. 

She doesn’t. And he’s grateful, selfishly so, that she doesn’t want to stop this because he doesn’t think he’d survive. 

They move toward one another at the same time. Kiara’s hands find JJ’s shoulders, knocking his hat off and onto the floor. His hands find the backs of her thighs and he’s lifting her. He wraps her long legs around his waist, holding her up against him as he walks towards his bedroom. Her lips are everywhere; against his own, on his neck, across his collarbone, behind his ear. He can barely think he’s so turned on and his only goal at this point is to get to the bed without dropping her or slamming his foot against the doorframe. 

Kiara is making these little sounds under her breath as she kisses him, her hips moving softly against his as she tries to get some friction, and it’s driving him absolutely insane. He’s never felt with anyone else what he feels with her. Like his heart is going to burst out of his chest with how much he wants. God, how he  _ wants _ . He doesn’t think that’ll ever change. No matter how far away she goes from the OBX, from the Chateau, from  _ him _ , JJ knows that this part of him, the small, secret, part he keeps locked away, will always belong to her. Maybe it always has.

He drops Kiara on the bed as gently as he can, and she’s instantly crossing her arms across her body and pulling her t-shirt up over her head. His gaze flits all over her rapidly, trying to engrave every minute detail to memory. The enticing arch of her back and the soft swish of her hair as her shirt comes off, the moonlight that streams across the room and catches the newly exposed lines of her face and collarbone, bathing her whole body in contrast; light and dark. She’s breathtaking and glorious and beautiful and he loves her, God, how he  _ loves  _ her. 

JJ knew she wasn’t wearing a bra, but it’s one thing to see her nipples through her shirt, to slide his hand up under it and feel her bare breast, and another thing entirely to see it in front of him. He’s thought about her being back in this bed for two years; with his hand wrapped around his cock and his hips jutting off the bed. When he’s alone he replays the noises she made in his head. The catch of her breath, the whimpers of his name, the cries to God. But, sometimes...sometimes, he wonders what it would be like to hold her in his arms on a lazy Sunday morning or cuddle her on chilly Friday nights. Sometimes he imagines just laying next to her, burying his face in her neck as he spoons her from behind because he feels safe with her; she keeps the demons at bay and quiets the roarings of his hyperactive mind. 

That first time had been frantic, so many things being felt all at once. It was dark and there had been tears. But still, JJ had thought of nothing but doing it again for the past two years. He simply hadn’t been able to do all the things he had been thinking about for so long and the missed opportunity nagged at him. He thinks about getting her to make all those noises once more. 

Now, they have some time. Not a lot of it, but enough that JJ can lay her out and do what he wants. Make her toes curl, her legs shake, her hands pull his hair, her voice break around cries of his name. He wants his mouth on her, his fingers inside her, working in tandem to make her come again and again, so she’ll always remember who brought her that pleasure, who gave her that high. 

He doesn’t even realize she’s started to undo his belt and fly until she’s pushing his shorts down his legs. When her hand goes for the waistband of his boxer briefs, JJ stops her. Takes her hands in his and kisses her knuckles before coming to lean over her. 

He lays her back on the bed, topless, curls tumbling down her chest and covering her breasts, with the occasional shift flashing a hint of dark rosy nipple. She looks like one of those old paintings from 500 years ago, the ones with the naked goddesses or whatever they are.  JJ never knew their names, but Kiara could be one of them, omnipotent and glowing in the moonlight, ethereal, supernatural, gorgeous beyond mortal definition. 

JJ’s mouth goes dry and he feels like he’s going to burst into flames of desire with the way she’s looking at him. He closes his eyes, commits this moment to memory. He never wants to forget the flutter of her eyelashes against her cheeks, the flush creeping down her bare chest, the dip of her belly button, the curve of her waist. Kiara lays before him bare and exposed, but without shame or fear. He never wants to forget the way her eyes burn with want for him, the way she trusts him with her body under his hands, something he never thought anyone would do. 

Kiara reaches for him and he’s over her in an instant, kissing her again, trying to get his shirt off and keep their lips connected all at once. She smiles against his mouth when his arm gets stuck. She doesn’t really laugh, just exhales around a grin, but it makes his heart soar regardless. He balls up his t-shirt and throws it off the side of the bed, the soft, well-worn cotton flying off his fingertips and landing somewhere amongst the chaos of his room. Kiara’s eyes run over him slowly, admiring all the little imperfections that mark his skin. Scars from working and surfing and schoolyard scuffles. Scars from his father. Freckles from long days spent out on the Pogue, or working at the Marina, or sitting on a board in the water. He knows he’s blushing, can feel the back of his neck heat up as she stares at him, running the tips of her fingers across the little dips of his abdomen. 

He’s been naked with girls before, more naked than he is right now, but the way Kiara looks at him...it’s not just his body that feels bare, it’s his soul, too. Women have looked at him this way since he was old enough to push a lawnmower, but with her it’s  _ intimate _ .

JJ swallows hard as he sits back on his heels. He hates that his hands shake as he reaches for her terry cloth shorts. He’s good at this, at sex. Making girls feel good. Getting them off. It’s the one thing about himself he’s always sure of. But this isn’t just any girl. This is Kiara. And this isn’t just about sex. He’s  _ in love _ with her. It’s different and scary, and she’s leaving him tomorrow to go a whole world away, and  _ Jesus Christ _ , his hands just will not stop shaking. He tells himself to get his shit together because he  _ cannot _ fuck this up. Not with her. Not tonight. 

Gentle fingers caress his jaw, a soft thumb runs over his lips, and an index finger smooths out the worry between his brows. His eyes fall closed and he leans down into her touch. Just like always, she anchors him. Her fingers push some hair away from his face, slide down his neck, and across his shoulder. “Kie,” he sighs. It’s nothing, really, just her name, just a word he’s said a million times before, but it’s a door, an opening to all of the things he wants to say to her, all of the feelings storming inside of him and begging to be heard.  _ I love you.  _

“Don’t,” she says, and he opens his eyes to find her looking at him, just as open and raw and unguarded. Just as scared. “Please.” Her voice shakes, just the slightest bit. It’s like she knows what he’s thinking, all the things he wants to say to her. She knows, and she doesn’t want to hear it -- maybe because to her this is just fucking, just something to kill time. Maybe because she’s terrified of what she means to him, because she doesn’t feel the same way. Maybe because she does. 

“Yeah,” he answers. Closes his eyes, drops his forehead against hers. “Yeah, okay.” And then he’s kissing her again, like diving in liquid moonlight, like surfing under stars, heady and rushing and silver and incredible, an impossibility grasped, for just a moment. The heat between them builds again, because it always does, because it’s easy and a way of being honest without telling the truth. He lays over her, their chests pressed together with delicious heat, sharing half-taken breaths between hungry mouths. 

JJ’s lips find her ear first, then the curve of her jaw, the slope of her neck, pressing soft kisses to all the bare skin he can find. She tastes like salt air and coconut lotion. He takes a nipple into his mouth as he moves down her body, smiling slightly as she arches into him like a cat. When she clutches at his hair, curling her fingers in it, and the tug of her grip, the blunt scrape of her fingernails, it’s a bittersweet fulfillment.

He reaches for her shorts again, curling his fingers around the waistband, and his hands don’t shake this time. He pulls them off her legs and then they’re both in their underwear and this is familiar; Kiara laying on his bed, looking up at him with all of these unspoken things in her eyes, beckoning him with miles of gentle curves and soft skin, and yet...it’s different, too. Mostly because the last time they found themselves here it had been pitch black outside. He had learned her by touch alone, could navigate his way across her skin blindfolded if he had to. Now, the moonlight gives the illusion of early day and he can see everything in stark detail. The curl of her hair, the slope of her neck, the line of her jaw. And further down, the curve of her breast, and the lines of her torso, and the gentle raise of her hip bones where they descend into her underwear. She’s wearing cotton panties with lace along the edge in lilac, and he wonders, as he kneels before her and proceeds to take them off, ready to worship her, if she knows what seeing her in this color does to him. 

It reminds him of her dress at Midsummers, all that flowing, clinging silk against her long, lean body, glowing against her skin. She looked so damn good that night. He still remembers it like it was yesterday. How he felt when her voice raised over the chaos, the way she ran into his arms; the way she smiled at him, face alight with joy; not John B, not Pope.  _ Him _ . It was the first spark of hope that his feelings may not be in vain, that there was something to build on, something that could burn if they only gave it the chance. He thought the night John B disappeared - the night the Phantom went down - he thought that would be their match, the thing that finally caught on years of tension and forced the two of them alight, but…well. They never talked about it, never acknowledged the way they fit together so perfectly, a joining of bodies and a meeting of souls. He knows that this will never amount to anything, either, that she’ll leave and she’ll forget him, again. 

He intends to make her remember. 

Kiara says his name around a sigh, pulling his hair harder as he uses his tongue to tease the sensitive skin behind her knee and up the inside of her thigh. She shifts in anticipation as his mouth nears her center, and he can feel how wet she is, even through her panties, heat coming off of her in waves and driving him mad with want. He runs his thumb over her across the fabric, and when Kiara whimpers, hands gripping his hair ever tighter, he smiles.

“What do you want?”

She doesn’t answer with words. Her hands guide his head closer, her breathing speeding up as his lips touch her clit over her panties. He knows what she wants, what she needs, but what  _ he _ wants is to hear her say it, to hear her breath catch and her voice waver as she tells him exactly what she wants him to do to her. 

“Your mouth,” she says breathlessly, “I want your mouth.”

It’s even better than he imagined, hearing her say that. He’s so hard he’s grinding down into the bed subconsciously and when he pulls the cotton to the side to lick up the length of her and she whimpers, he rolls his hips into the mattress. JJ looks up her body, across what seems like miles upon miles of smooth, sweet-smelling skin, meeting her gaze. Kiara’s eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils blown, lips swollen and parted on a sigh, and it’s the most sensual thing he’s ever seen. She loosens one hand’s grip on his hair and smooths her fingers down the side of his face. Cups his jaw in her hand, runs her thumb across his bottom lip and JJ sighs, the gesture so tender, so foreign. 

He kisses the pad of her thumb without thinking, like a compulsion, and then he’s sliding both her legs over one of his shoulders and pulling her underwear up and off. He throws them somewhere, lost to the vast expanse of his sheets. Lowering himself onto his stomach, JJ moves closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her clit and then diving in, using his tongue to part her lips and curl inside of her. She tries to squirm away from him, the sensations too much, but JJ hooks his forearms around her thighs and holds her there. Lips and tongue work together to drive her impossibly higher, and the noise she makes as he goes harder will be burned into his memory for the rest of his life. 

Kiara’s feet slide down his back, toes curling and hips canting upwards as he teases a finger through the wetness at her entrance. She grabs at his wrist impatiently, nails scratching across his skin, and JJ chuckles, right against her clit. She practically sobs at the vibrations that run through her. He can feel the muscles of her thighs tense and jump under his grip, so much power and strength encased in the most exquisite of bodies. 

He looks up when he pushes one finger inside of her, and she holds his gaze as best she can...until he adds another and curls them forwards. Kiara’s eyes roll back in her skull and her head falls against the pillow. He almost comes just from the sight alone. It makes him determined to make her come so hard she’ll never forget this moment for the rest of her life. JJ flutters his fingers against her g-spot, the sounds she’s making only encouraging him to keep going. It’s euphoric; the way her breath catches, stutters, and then how her chest contorts as she sucks in another sharp burst of air.

She’s stunning like this; naked and right on the edge, barely keeping it together, writhing across his sheets, hands gripping her breasts and rolling her nipples between her fingers. And oh,  _ oh _ , he likes that. He  _ really _ likes that.

“Yeah, that’s right, baby, touch yourself for me.”

He puts his mouth on her again at the same moment he slides a third finger inside of her. His lips wrap around her clit and Kiara whines. A muffled cry of his name flies across her lips and she’s coming,  _ hard _ . JJ can feel the wet pulse of her walls around his fingers, the sporadic clenching of her inner muscles making him want to bury his cock deep inside her. He rubs his thumb against her clit until she’s squealing and rolling away from his over-eager fingers and mouth. Kiara pushes some sweaty hair off her forehead, chest still rising and falling rapidly as she tries to catch her breath. 

“You’re such an asshole,” she sighs, and yeah, not the dirty talk he was hoping for, but he’ll take it. He rises from between her legs, crawling over her body and laying himself along her, gently lowering his weight to the side. One forearm holds him up, the other hand tracing up her side as she kisses the taste of herself out of his mouth. When he pulls away, she’s got a galaxy in her eyes, and it’s mirrored in his, stars reflected in the ocean. 

“You want to stop?” he asks, and immediately regrets it, because what if she says yes? What if this is the last taste of her he’ll ever get? Kiara is soft in all the places he is not, strong in all the ways he wishes he could be. Hers is a quiet strength; she is delicate and fierce and sensitive and unapologetic all woven together into the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen and he wishes that he had more time. Her arms are around his neck, her hands in his hair, and every inhale she takes draws the air from his lungs into hers, sharing breath, hearts beating in sync, blood thrumming to the same beat, the sun, and moon, the water, and shore. 

She bites her lip, in that way that she does, and his eyes fall to her mouth. “No,” she answers, and the word has barely left her lips when he’s kissing her again, their eyes falling shut, trusting each other to find harmony in darkness. Kiara spreads her thighs again, drawing JJ between them completely, the hard length of him pressing against her core through his boxers. Her hands grip his bare sides, nails scratching lightly across his back. JJ gasps and pushes his hips forward when her hands slide under the waistband of his boxer briefs and grab his ass. 

“Fuck, Kie,” he says, barely keeping it together. He’s not even inside her yet but already he feels right on the edge; it’s just the effect she has on him. She drives him mad in the best way possible. Her hands push his underwear down as far as she can reach and then JJ takes over, kicking them off his legs and shoving them away, right off the side of the bed. He settles back over her, balanced on his knees and forearms, ocean-blue eyes hungry and desperate, loving and euphoric and ripped to shreds, all at once. 

“JJ,” she says, and it’s half a breath, barely there, an accident, slipping from between her lips unbidden. It’s a crack in her armor, the first sign that maybe, _just_ _maybe_ , this means as much to her as it does to him, that perhaps she’s bleeding, too. Kiara reaches up, taking his face in her hand, brushing her thumb over his cheekbone, and her eyes are brimming with all the things he wishes she would say, the things she won’t let herself feel, the things he’s thinking. But she doesn’t speak, tears welling up in her eyes, and all he can do is kiss her, and hope she feels comfort in his touch. When he pulls away, she’s smiling, and there’s something deep and fierce in her gaze that reaches into his chest and wraps around his heart, and he knows he’ll be tied to her forever. 

She reaches down for him, wraps her hand around his cock, and draws him inside her, the soft wet heat perfect and heavenly and a thousand other things JJ doesn’t deserve. He sighs, a noise that is too soft and too vulnerable, truthful and painful and raw. Her lips brush his neck and there might be tears, there, too. “Kiara,” he says, and it’s a prayer and a sob and gasp, all at once. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to start the rhythm that will eventually take them both higher, bring them together before ripping them apart, just wants to stay buried inside her, joined, so close he can’t tell where he ends and she begins, but she rolls her hips, and he can’t help but respond, and she’s gasping his name as he moves above her and this --  _ this _ is why they call it making love. 

He doesn’t think anything will ever be more beautiful, more perfect, than the sounds she’s making, the way his cock drags against the walls of her cunt, the way she keens and moans and clutches at him. His hips are slow and purposeful, taking his time with her, and when his eyes find hers, she doesn’t look away. “JJ,” she breathes, her fingers pushing his hair away from his face, her hands curling tight, and he watches her climb, heaven building in her eyes. Tears push up in his throat, and he kisses her, meaning flooding every brush of lips. He’s drowning in her, sense and logic lost, his world only the smell of her and the taste of her skin. 

She’s making this soft breathy sound every time his hips meet hers, and it’s driving him crazy. JJ’s trying to take it slow, make this last because tomorrow she’ll be gone, but Kiara has other ideas. She clenches around him, pulsing her muscles with purpose and intent, dragging her nails down his back for added emphasis. 

“Harder,” she says.

And while he went into this with different intentions, he’s powerless to resist her. JJ would spend the rest of his life giving her exactly what she wants if it means she keeps making those sounds in his ear. So he does as she asks, fucking her harder. He swears he’ll have scars from the way her nails dig into the skin on either side of his spine but the way she moans, long and loud, a siren’s call for his soul, is worth it. 

She feels incredible, better than he remembers, and maybe it’s because it’s been so long, or because it’s the last time. JJ doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. Nothing matters except the bite of her nails on his skin and the soft slap of their bodies meeting and the sound of her gasps and moans in his ear. 

JJ is convinced that this is the best moment of his life, buried so deep inside Kiara they may as well be one. One body; one soul. She is everything; his past, his present, and even his future, though a bleak one it will be -- with only his memories of this night to keep him company. He loves her so much his chest feels like it might split open, crack, splinter, and out his heart will fall, Kiara’s name imprinted on it like a brand. 

“Fuck, Kie, you feel so good, baby.” He lets the words roll off his tongue and onto the sweat-soaked skin of her neck, saying whatever filth comes to mind. Anything but the one thing he desperately wants to tell her but knows she can’t bear to hear. It threatens to spill out no matter how hard he tries to push it down. __

_ I love you. _

And when it almost slips out, when he comes too close to baring all, to telling her what’s in his heart, he moves forward on his knees, and on instinct, Kiara hitches her legs higher on his torso. The angle is deeper now if that’s even possible, and while JJ had this shift in mind so he could fuck her harder and drive the  _ I love you’s _ farther from his mind with every snap of his hips, he realizes too late that this only feels more intimate than before. 

“JJ!” she gasps, one hand flying to hold the back of his neck, “Oh my god, ohmygod,  _ ohmyfuckinggod _ .” And hearing her say his name like that, wild and untamed, stirs something deep inside of him. In one quick movement, he hikes her legs over his shoulders, grabs her thighs, and begins to move faster. 

Kiara cries out and her hands fly to his forearms and clutch him there, hard muscle flexing under smooth, tanned skin, his thrusts leaving her breathless and unable to do anything but moan and gasp something akin to his name. He can feel his orgasm rising, simmering below his skin, just beneath the surface, and it only takes a few more thrusts before he’s losing rhythm, hips stuttering and slowing down and he’s coming so hard his back teeth fucking throb. Kiara’s muscles squeeze and pulse and flutter around him as he falls forward and gasps against her mouth. 

She didn’t come, a fact that JJ is well aware of as he pulls out of her and moves down her body, dragging his lips and tongue across as many inches of her skin as he can. When he reaches the apex of her thighs, muscles tensed and skin damp with sweat and arousal, JJ settles down on his stomach, using his thumb to spread her apart. She’s so fucking wet from her own arousal and his come and when he pulls his thumb away it’s soaked. He licks it off and smirks when he hears her breath catch, knows she’s watching him, and loves it.

JJ surprises her by licking up the center of her suddenly and collecting the taste of them on his tongue and lips before kissing her again. It’s deep and filthy, makes his blood turn to wildfire in his veins and his bones melt. Kiara’s hands are everywhere at once. In his hair, across his shoulders, down his back, up his arms. She whimpers when he pulls away, the sound going straight to his cock, already getting hard again. 

When he pushes her legs back, knees bending and feet coming to rest somewhere near his shoulders, the wanting grows tenfold as she tangles a hand in his hair and says, “Please,” on a soft exhale and, well. JJ’s always had a hard time resisting Kiara, but when she’s like this, all loose-limbed and rosy-cheeked, with her skin soaked in sweat, and lips pink and swollen from his kisses, his come dripping out of her and the marks from his mouth peppering her breasts, resistance is futile. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t give her at this moment. And how cruel is that? The only person he wants is the one he’ll never be deserving of. Kiara will never be his; and yet he would lay it all down for her, give her everything: the shirt off his back, the blood in his veins, the breath in his lungs. His heart would be hers, too, if she didn’t have it already. Anything she wanted, needed, he would give it up without a second thought, hell, without a thought at all. Because it’s Kiara, and he loves her.

And so JJ devotes his attention to her, using tongue and lips and teeth to worship her the way she deserves. He can’t give her anything, not a big house on Figure Eight, or the money she needs to start that marine life sanctuary she’s always dreamed about, but he can give her this. He can give her his body, the only thing that’s ever been good about him. He can give her pleasure, let her lose herself in his touch, let her burn under his hands, fall apart in his arms. He’s nothing, compared to her, just a no-good Pogue with no future and no hope for one. But in this moment, on this night, he can make her feel celestial. 

It could be minutes, it could be hours, he doesn’t know. The flow of time slows down, stops, fades away entirely while he’s between her thighs, and nothing else matters besides making her feel good. This is always his favorite part of sex, and he genuinely doesn’t understand how some men claim not to like it. It feels like a worship, a moment where he can lose himself in devotion. It’s even better with her, the noises she makes, and the taste of her heavenly, holy in the way they fulfill him. Kiara is practically sobbing by the time he slides his fingers inside of her. She cries out when he curls them up and draws her clit between his lips, flicking it with his tongue. 

She’s too far gone to tell him that she’s coming but he already knows. Can feel it in the rhythmic pulsing of her inner walls and the tense of her thighs and lower stomach; can hear it in the catch of her breath; can see it in the way she bites her bottom lip, and her eyes roll back in her head. She’s glorious, ethereal, the most gorgeous fucking thing he’s ever seen as she shakes apart and comes back together at his touch. 

He actually makes her legs shake, a feat he’ll be smug about for a very long time. Kiara’s hands push him away when she becomes too sensitive, and he crawls up and lays his head on her stomach, trying to calm his breathing and get himself together so he doesn’t completely come undone the second he’s inside her again. He sighs when her hands slide into his hair, scratching across his scalp and playing with the blond strands. He pushes his head farther into her touch, craving the contact. She humors him for a minute or two, JJ’s eyes falling closed, and his heartbeat settling. 

“Tired?” she asks with a soft chuckle, and he nods against her stomach, drinking in the warmth of her skin, the smell of her sweat, memorizing the taste of both of them in his mouth. She twirls locks of his hair around her fingers, quiet for just a beat too long, and when he lifts his eyes to meet hers, her mouth is twisted into a mischievous expression, brown eyes sparkling the grey light, swimming in the magic of the darkness. He knows what she wants. 

“Again?” he asks, and she nods, a smile lighting up her entire face, and part of him can’t believe it, that she’s asking, that she wants to, that she wants him. “I think you might be trying to kill me,” he says, and she shrugs, laughing as he crawls up her body and then loses himself in another kiss, slow and lazy and perfect. 

When she pulls away, her brown eyes are dark and fathomless and captivating, a siren, a lady of the ocean, pulling him down so deep he doesn’t even realize he’s drowning. “We taste good together,” she says. And she knows what the words will do to him, has to, with the way they fall out of her mouth, husky and seductive.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he breathes, his forehead dropping into the curve of her neck. Her hand comes up to hold his chin, pulling his mouth back over to kiss him again, the movement of her lips demanding, but waking him up, every stroke of her tongue going straight to his cock. 

When she pulls away, it’s with a determined glint in her perfect brown eyes. “Again?” she asks. In answer, he kisses her once more, harder this time, appreciative of the noise she makes in the back of her throat. He shifts his weight over her again, his forearms on either side of her face, one of her hands in his hair, the other flat against his side, appreciating the flex and shift of toned muscle. 

Suddenly, and with a quiet and surprising strength, Kiara rolls them so that he ends up below her. And God, what a view. He’s thought about this before, too, more times than he can count. It was always something he pictured; Kiara on top of him, hips moving over his in a dance as old as time itself; primal, and free, and all for him, if only for a moment. 

With the way she’s settled, the hard length of him lies against his stomach, between the lips of her cunt. She moves her hips forward and back slowly, letting him drag against her, hot and wet, but never moving to take him inside and that’s when he realizes what exactly it is she’s doing. 

“Stop teasing,” his words come out breathless and strained, head dropping back on his neck and hitting the pillow below him. She grins down, sighs as his hands run up her body, over her thighs and hips before gliding up her stomach to her waist. He moves higher still, brushes his thumbs over her nipples, and Kiara arches her chest into his touch. He teases her right back, and the two of them remain locked in this silent struggle, neither willing to break first. 

In the end, it’s JJ who can’t take anymore. Panting and squirming underneath her, he finally caves, a soft, “Please, baby,” exhaling from his lungs, so quiet that if she hadn’t been focused on his lips, she would have missed it.

When Kiara rises unto her knees and reaches between her legs to guide him inside her, JJ holds his breath. She doesn’t look away, not even for a moment, and neither does he. They’ve always been good at this; saying everything without saying anything at all. A raised eyebrow here, a tilt of the head there, the slight uptick of lips or crinkle of the nose. But this is different. It feels...bigger somehow, like when she’s looking into his eyes she can see all the way to his soul, the very core of his being, see everything that he is. All the fuckups, and the baggage, all the things he hates about himself, the things even he turns away from. But she’s not turning away, holding his gaze as she lowers herself over him, the moonlight setting her aglow, naked and ethereal above him. He’s not entirely sure what fluke of the universe or cosmic hiccup gave him this,  _ her _ , even just for a night, but he‘s grateful for it, anyway. 

When she’s finally taken him all the way inside her, he moans, letting his eyes fall closed at last, drinking in the feeling of her soft, wet heat. There’s a part of him that still thinks he must be dreaming, awoken when she drags her nails down his chest, demanding his eyes on her, his presence in this sacred moment. She doesn’t start to move until he opens his eyes, blue meeting brown in an immortal, timeless rush of breath. His dream is coming true above him, her body lithe and agile, flushed and cock-drunk, eyes starry and lost, like a ship drifting through haze. 

He knows that this is rare, what exists between them, that things like this don’t just happen. JJ is commonplace; everything about him is horrifically ordinary, average at best. Except Kiara. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, sunlight cutting through clouds, a stroke of impossible luck in his shitshow of a life. It makes sense, of course, that she’s leaving him. This couldn’t last forever. He wonders how long she would fool herself, pretend that this is something they can do, something that makes sense. Something more than a fool’s hope, a mirage, a fever dream. If she wasn’t leaving tomorrow, would she still allow herself this weakness, still cave to this stupid urge?

Her head drops, her hair falling down her back like water over a cliff, her chest heaving. It’s long now, she hasn’t cut it in a while; he can feel the tips brushing the tops of his thighs. His hands frame her hips, guiding her to the perfect angle, and when he squeezes, she gasps, looking back down again. He grips her harder, her breath catching when he does. He wonders what she has in mind when she shifts, one hand coming to rest on his thigh behind her and the other finding its place on his stomach, palm flat, fingers spread wide. 

And then she begins to move. It’s less of a bounce and more of a grind, back and forth, slow, deep, and torturous. The fingers on his stomach curl, nails scratching lightly across his skin. His breath hitches in his chest, and he can’t breathe, she feels so good. It’s even better than he thought it would be, watching her dance, dip, and twirl and grind. He’d spent so many nights at the boneyard stuck to his seat on a piece of driftwood, mesmerized by the way she moved in the firelight. Her skin shines under the moon, sweat glossy and glowing across her chest. She looks better in white than she ever did in the orange glow of the bonfire. 

It feels like his bones are melting apart, blood rushing and boiling in his veins as he watches her, feels his cock drag against the walls of her cunt, mesmerized, completely in awe. His hand traces over her clit, and he smiles at her answering gasp, rubbing slow, perfect circles in time with her hips. She chases the movement, pressing into him, and he can see the build in her eyes, the way her toned stomach flexes, and the stutter in her breath. 

“Come on, Kie,” he says, and she falls forward, both her hands on his chest, her hips still taking him in deep with every stroke, but faster now, desperate. 

“Shut the fuck up,” she gasps, “and fuck me harder.” He raises his knees, heels digging into the bed beneath him, and jerks his hips up from below her. She chokes out a surprised laugh, falling forward into a kiss for just a moment. 

“Like that?” he asks, cocky, and she retaliates by sinking her teeth into his lower lip. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” she sighs, and then sits up again, bliss on her face. “Fuck,  _ just _ like that.” 

The rhythm they find is nothing short of holy, working together to climb above heaven itself. Her thighs are tight around his hips, strong and powerful, just another thing about her he loves, worships, adores. She leans back against his knees, let’s him fuck her from below with his hands on her waist when her muscles start to get tired. Driven by some urge he can’t explain, JJ sits up. He wants to see her face when he makes her come, wants to be as close to her as possible so he can take stock of every detail and store them all away, somewhere safe and warm in his head, protected, secure, and all his. 

Kiara is still in his lap, though now they’re closer than they’ve ever been. Chest to chest, he can feel her breasts rise and fall with every breath she takes. He puts his hands on her hips and helps her find a rhythm once more, slower this time, but no less intense. Once she’s grinding again, JJ moves one hand back to her clit, thumb rubbing in circles, his eyes never leaving her face. Her hands fly to his shoulders and squeeze, her head dropping to his neck and teeth sinking into his shoulder as she whimpers. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.” It comes out in a breathless rush right by his ear. 

“Yeah?” JJ turns her head, makes her look at him as he rubs her clit harder, nearly there himself but determined to make her come before he does. She nods frantically, nails scratching down the backs of his shoulders, right on the edge. 

“Come on, baby,” he says, “come for me.”

She cries out, crashing, over and over again, the walls of her cunt flexing and pulsing around him, making him clench his teeth as he holds down his own orgasm, focused on getting Kiara through hers. She arches forward into him, hands grasping the hair at the nape of his neck and pulling him flush against her chest. JJ wraps his arms around her as she shudders, loving the way her body moves against his, misses it even while it’s happening. Her face is a mask of pleasure and bliss, and he memorizes the image as best he can. 

He buries his face between her breasts as he comes, hips jerking up into her hard, losing rhythm and force as he pants against the sweat-soaked skin of her chest. His mouth gapes, his lungs sucking in desperate gasps of oxygen like a drowning man. This orgasm is different than his first one. Where that one had felt like his bones splitting apart and throwing themselves back together again, this one feels more like his insides melting, dripping down his body like honey, slow and sweet, a deep, smoldering inferno burning deep in his chest, washing over everything and setting it alight.

Slowly, they relax into each other, sated and exhausted, covered in a thin sheen of sweat that JJ kisses from her skin. She doesn’t move until he grows soft inside her, and even then, he just lays back, and she falls to his side, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist. His other hand traces up and down her forearm where it rests on his chest. They’re silent for a while, careful and cautious in the darkness. Neither of them wants to acknowledge what this is --  _ goodbye _ . 

After a moment, she reaches out and hooks her finger underneath one of the bracelets on his wrist. It’s made of green and blue glass beads, held together loosely by fishing line. The paint on the beads is scratched, and gaps of empty string stretch between them, like it’s broken and been re-made a hundred times. 

“You still have this?” she asks, surprised. She recognizes it -- it was one of the first bracelets she made for him when they were children. She hadn’t made it with fishing line, though. 

“Yeah,” he says, the word half-swallowed.    


“You kept it?” she asks. She has made these boys a thousand bracelets, watched JJ chew through more than one, cut one off John B’s wrist when it started smoldering while he built a bonfire. Pope always kept his neat as long as he could, cut them off, and saved them in a box when they started to unravel. JJ was always asking for more -- they would get lost in the surf or snap off while he worked on an engine or fell out of a tree. It’s amazing that he’s kept one this long.

“You made it,” he answers. It’s simple, an admission without being one.  _ I love you _ , he’s saying,  _ I’ve always loved you. _

“JJ --” she starts, and he can feel her drawing away, thinking like she always does, and he silences both her thoughts and her words with a gentle kiss. He doesn’t need to hear the apology to know that it’s coming. 

“Don’t,” he says, and then; “please.” It’s the please, that breaks her. Tears well and spill and she just tucks her face into the curve of his neck, and he holds her as she sobs against his skin, not saying anything -- not having to. It’s deja vu once more, so much like that first night they spent together when she thought all was lost: Sarah, and John B, and for a very brief and terrifying moment, JJ, too. Yet, it’s different, now. This is final. There is no tomorrow. No next week. No making plans for dawn patrol or meetups at the Wreck. This is a closing. A finale. The end of an era. Tomorrow will still come, of course. So will next week. But Kiara won’t be here. The sun will still rise over the marsh, and the surf will still pound against the shore, eternal in the cycle of day and night, sunset and moonrise. But Kiara won’t be here. She’ll be an ocean away from him, 9,635.24 miles between them, living the life she’s always dreamed of -- leaving him behind. 

They drift into the night like a lifeboat, aimless and desperate to believe that there’s still hope, somewhere, someone to rescue them, to take them home, and tell them everything will be alright. They are still young and uncertain, craving reassurance, hoping they will find it in each other’s touch. Kiara falls asleep first, and he holds her with reverence, tracing his fingers up and down her spine, counting each vertebrae, fighting the heaviness that drags at his eyelids. She is gentle and peaceful in the moonlight, quiet and still, and all the things she usually isn’t. He’ll remember her this way, but he’ll remember the fire of her the most, the way she burns with passion and grace, taking on the world with every breath. 

He’s resigned to the way he loves her, deep and unrequited, knowing it will be something true about him, forever. JJ Maybank, useless Pogue, blond, blue-eyed, broke, and in love with Kiara Carrera. The last thought before he slips under the waves of exhaustion crashing over him is a morose kind of acceptance, understanding that he will spend his whole life loving this girl who will always be leaving him behind. 

The next morning comes too early, harsh, and golden, and cruel, and Kiara blinks awake in JJ’s arms. He’s asleep on his side, one arm heavy and casual over her waist, lax in the way he holds her, like he’s not afraid she’s going to float away. Her phone alarm is going off, the ringer on silent so it buzzes against the dresser. Thank god she’d plugged it in before going out to the hammock the night before. If she misses her flight she thinks her mother might actually scalp her. She reaches out and fumbles with her phone, desperate to turn it off before JJ wakes up. She wants to leave him this way, sleeping in the glowing morning light. Goodbye would hurt too much. 

For a moment, she closes her eyes again, basking in the warmth of the sunlight and JJ’s bare chest against her back. She lets herself pretend that she knows what happiness feels like, that this is it. She wants to turn in his arms, kiss him awake and fuck him, slow and lazy and kind in the soft light of the early morning. But she has a flight to catch, a point to make. It doesn’t matter how much every part of her begs to stay -- she has dreams to chase, wishes to fulfill. She needs to prove to herself that she is more than just a Pogue, even if that title will follow her for the rest of her life. She needs to stand her ground against expectation and society and all of the things that want to bring her down. So she takes a breath and slides out from underneath JJ’s arm. 

Tearing herself away from his embrace is almost physically painful, the warmth of him leaving her feeling like an open wound. He’s fast asleep, his breathing deep and even, mouth slightly open, lips pink and parted and perfect. She remembers the way she lost herself in them last night, the way his kisses felt like coming home before she’d even left. He’s dangerous, this boy, the way her body caves to him, the way she becomes his so easily, just a brush of his lips against hers, his hands on her waist. It’s the eyes, she thinks, mournful in a way they have no right to be, deep and blue and begging to be loved. It’s the way JJ doesn’t know how much he shows when he looks into her eyes. He thinks he’s stoic, brave and faceless, and in control. But she knows him, can read him like a sailor reads the sky before a storm, and he doesn’t have to say it for her to know he loves her. 

She loves him too, and that’s the terrifying part, the words she won’t ever let herself say, scared of the naked truth they’ll expose. She loves him like he’s a part of her, and losing him would be like losing a limb -- phantom pains would haunt her for the rest of her life. And that’s why she has to leave first. That’s why she has to tear herself away, break down this thing that has barely been built because it will tear apart the two of them, eventually. JJ’s too soft, all heart and no head. He’d dive in without question, without knowing how this love between them will flash and burn and kill every good thing they’ve ever grown, with their broken hands and bitter tears. 

Finding her clothes just marks their trail through the house, filling her with the memory of his hands on her, hot and greedy and wanting. She knew what was going to happen the minute she laid down in that hammock with him, knew what she wanted. It was weak, of course. If she was strong enough, a good enough person, she would have left well enough alone. But she wanted him one more time, needed him like air, wanted all the time they didn’t have that first night, that horrible night clouded by grief and pain. It was, of course, the best sex of her life, exceeding all expectations and then blowing her mind, again, for good measure. Sitting on the plane with the ache building between her legs is going to be an adventure in endurance. 

She gets dressed in the living room, finding her shirt, and pulling it on. She’d packed up the rest of her things the night before, everything she’d left at the Chateau over the last couple of years nearly overflowing out of a duffel by the door. There were still traces of her all over the place, things that had been there so long she’d forgotten they didn’t always belong there. There was still her shampoo in the shower, her spice rack on the counter, at least four of her lip balms tucked into the couch, and a few more hiding on shelves that the boys will find in the coming months. She’s a part of this place, as much as the creaky, buckling porch and the stupid fishing trophies on the walls. She doesn’t know the void she’s going to leave behind when she goes, doesn’t understand that her presence here is as much a structural support as the boards she walks across, bare feet on sun-warmed wood. 

She wants to kiss him goodbye, see his perfect, clear blue eyes one more time, hear him say her name, and store the memory directly next to her heart. But she can’t wake him up, won’t be able to take the disappointment and betrayal in his eyes. She stands in the doorway to his room, tracing her eyes over his sleeping form, spread out on his stomach, melting into the space she’d left behind. Tears prick at her eyes as the sun slides over his skin, setting him alight, this perfect, golden boy, made of sunshine and compassion and more heart than he knows what to do with. 

Carefully, she crosses the messy floor, kneeling by the side of the bed and lacing her fingers on the mattress, leaning her chin there, inches from his face, his breath puffing gently over hers, disturbing the tears running down her cheeks. Slowly, gently, she leans forward and presses one last kiss to his lips. In his sleep, his mouth closes over hers, a fractional movement, instinct, and it’s the killing blow, breaking her heart behind her ribs. She pulls away, bites her lip, chokes back a sob. Her hand comes up and brushes her own tear off his sleeping face. She tucks a lock of tawny hair behind his ear. Her whisper is little more than a breath. 

“Goodbye, JJ.” 

He doesn’t wake up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11K later and here we are! This was amazing to write for me and for Jax; we had...I won't say fun, but we definitely enjoyed working together and can't wait to keep telling this story. 
> 
> Here's a link to the official playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6koFsPZ0GhI6jfgL55PzW5?si=m-HdHVJVTeSAm_-B99lcIg Happy listening! 
> 
> Let us know what you think in the comments; your feedback is important to us! 
> 
> xoxo Katie & Jax
> 
> Song inspo for this chapter:  
> \- august by Taylor Swift  
> \- Oceans by Seafret  
> \- Lights Down Low by MAX  
> \- ocean eyes by Billie Eilish

**Author's Note:**

> _Meaning to be caught between significant difficulties, the phrase, "caught between the devil and the deep blue sea", refers to the historical nautical practice of sealing the seams between a ship's wooden planks with hot tar. The devil is the name given to the ship's longest seam, which is typically the most prone to leaking, and, if not tended to properly, can sink a vessel and kill an entire crew of men._
> 
> Hello babes! I'm back with this behemoth of a fic that was supposed to be a cute little Christmas oneshot but which quickly spiraled into this slow burn, angsty, future kid fic. None of this would be possible without the lovely and brilliant, Jax, who is credited as a co-creator on this piece. A good chunk of the dialogue is theirs that they kindly let me use. They also encouraged all of my soft, sexy, sad porn headcanons, so when you sue me for emotional damages, know they're partly responsible.
> 
> We're really excited about this fic; it's the first fic I've ever outlined and we have so much planned. So buckle up, kids, cause it's gonna be a wild, angsty, sexy, ride! 
> 
> xoxo Katie (@aarchiess) & Jax (@homebody-nobody)


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